


strip the scales from your heart

by MacksDramaticShenanigans



Category: Trust (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Italian Mafia, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, but briga is soft and briga loves him, feelings so many feelings, primo's father SUCKS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25988182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacksDramaticShenanigans/pseuds/MacksDramaticShenanigans
Summary: The first time Primo kills someone, it’s on his father’s orders.It’s his father’s orders, but his Uncle’s insistence. Salvatore made it more than clear that he believed Primo’s father to be too soft on the young boy, letting him go this long already withoutproving himselfto the family— as ifsoftwas ever a word that could be used to describe Don Nizzuto.Naturally, it happens on Primo’s sixteenth birthday.
Relationships: Primo Nizzuto/Gabriele (Trust)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 80





	strip the scales from your heart

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello friends, it’s been a Hot Minute!!
> 
> But here I am back with a Brand New Fic for…. A Brand New Fandom akjdf. I thought my next fic posted would be for The Old Guard (which I will eventually get around to!!, but alas, I have fallen down a Luca Marinelli shaped rabbit hole and have attached myself to my emotional support mustache man, aka the feral garbage cat love of my life, aka Primo. And now I’m writing for a fandom that, up until a few days ago, did not yet exist dlgkjdf. Is this what the pioneers felt like? 
> 
> Anyways, I have a lot a lot of feelings and headcanons and thoughts about this funky little 70s man and his funky little 70s pornstache (who knew WHO KNEW that I would find a man with a pornstache so god damn attractive and that I would dedicate my LIFE to him???? Certainly not me!!), so naturally they will all come spilling out in the form of fic.
> 
> That being said, everyone PLEASE go watch Trust if not for the mildly interesting plot then only to see Luca Marinelli in his pornstachioed glory strutting his stuff in baby blue and tight pants. You can find it on Hulu or there’s a few links floating around out there, or just message me on tumblr or twitter and I can try to help you find it! It’s worth a watch for sure!!
> 
> In addition, a few points of clarification before reading this fic: In episode 3 a man in a pilot uniform shows up briefly onscreen, doing some coke, while Primo sits his cute tush on the counter and eats spaghetti, and this man has been adopted by a group of us and given an entire life history and backstory, all in the name of giving Primo a crime boyfriend. This man is named Gabriele, aka Briga, and we love him very much. He features in this fic! 
> 
> Also, please please go give my girl [Teffy’s](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teffy/pseuds/teffy) fic [Family Is Never Finished](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25947481) a read!! I especially recommend it as a preface to this fic, as it highlights a lot of Primo’s backstory that we’ve so lovingly headcanoned!
> 
> This fic absolutely would not exist if it weren’t for my lovely Primodonnas and the furiously mad way we’ve headcanoned and backstoried the hell out of this show and these characters for like a whole week straight so far. A lot of the concepts and things in this fic come from their wonderful ideas, so this is as much my baby as it is theirs and I thank them immensely for it!! I love you guys a whole lot, thank you for all the support w this fic too <3
> 
> The title of this fic comes from the song [The Saints I](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3LxJPCm6GNw) by Dirt Poor Robins, go check it out, I love this song a whole lot!
> 
> Now without further ado, please please enjoy my incredibly niche fic lol.

The first time Primo kills someone, it’s on his father’s orders.

It’s his father’s orders, but his Uncle’s insistence. Salvatore made it more than clear that he believed Primo’s father to be too soft on the young boy, letting him go this long already without _proving himself_ to the family— as if _soft_ was ever a word that could be used to describe Don Nizzuto.

Naturally, it happens on Primo’s sixteenth birthday.

The knife is a present from his father, sleek and shiny and _new_ where it sits in the slim red gift box. There’s a birthday card to go along with it, which is funny, because Primo never gets birthday cards. He should’ve known it was too good to be true when he opens it and all that’s scribbled inside is the first and last name of the poor bastard Primo’s brand new birthday present will soon find a home in.

Primo takes the knife from the box, holds the handle tightly. Feels the smooth grip and the polished metal beneath the pads of his fingers. It’s a fairly small thing, an Italian Stiletto, but its size isn’t what makes it feel _so heavy_ in his palm. 

He stares down at the blade, twists his arm and watches as it glints in the afternoon sunlight. He pictures it puncturing the skin of Alessio Esposito and thinks of how _personal_ using it like that will feel.

His stomach churns.

His father claps him on the shoulder, startling him back into reality as he gives him a shake. “You have to _feel it_ , Primo,” he tells him, almost as if he can sense the reservations Primo is having. His fingers dig into Primo’s shoulder painfully.

Primo thanks his father with a forced smile. Then he’s sent on his way with a promise to bring back _proof_.

~*~

Primo and Gabriele were supposed to have plans tonight.

Gabriele had spent the entire day before pestering Primo with question after question about how he wanted to spend his birthday, and Primo had just laughed at his persistence and told him as long as Gabriele was there it would be enough of a celebration. 

When they’d seen each other briefly this morning, Gabriele had grinned and told Primo to meet him at the cliffs at dusk.

Dusk has long since come and gone, though, but still no sign of Primo.

The spread Gabriele managed to get his hands on has soured by now, the soft cheeses melting in the sun and the grapes going warm and mushy. Even the small cake he’d bought with his very own hard earned lira had started to turn sad in it’s paper box, the icing a sludgy, runny mess on top and the candle Gabriele had stuck right in the center now sitting at a dejected tilt.

By the time Primo arrives, it's nearing three in the morning, Gabriele's been waiting all night, and Primo's birthday is long over.

He makes it, though, and that's all that really matters. Even if he is still shaking from the night's events and he hasn't quite gotten all of the blood off of himself— there'd been so much more of it than he'd expected.

Primo would have been there sooner had it not been required of him to bring back the proof his father demanded. He'd been _proud_ when Primo presented him with it, though all Primo could think about was what he'd just done, and whether Gabriele would be angry with him for missing their plans for _that_.

He's been chasing after some sort of praise from his father for nearly his whole life, but finally getting it made Primo feel weird and twisted up inside, and nowhere near as nice as he'd thought it would. He wasn't sure his father's pride was worth Gabriele's anger, either. 

As Primo walks up on shaky legs, he doesn't even register the checkered blanket lying across the ground or the stolen bottle of wine. Gabriele's birthday picnic is completely lost on him. 

When Gabriele first spots him its dark, so he can't see the details of the night still on Primo.

" _Gattino_ , you're _late_ ," Gabriele scolds, jumping to his feet. "I almost thought you'd forgotten… or that you weren't going to come."

Primo can't find it in himself to snipe at Gabriele about _gattino_ like he usually would, and it just makes his heart even heavier to hear that Gabriele even considered the notion that he'd stand him up. He could never do that to his best friend, not even on his worst nights.

"You're lucky I didn't crack open the wine yet," Gabriele adds, and it's an obvious attempt to lighten things up again.

Gabriele is probably expecting Primo to be all boisterous about it, to brush off his extreme tardiness with some charming excuse like he would if this were any other time. 

But Primo doesn't. He's unnaturally quiet as he closes the distance between them, and he still doesn't say anything when he finally stops in front of Gabriele. He doesn't even look up at him. 

Gabriele's brow furrows, and his smile is quick to fall from his face. He starts to draw his hand up, so he can reach out and touch, but Primo flinches. It's so small a reaction, too, just a barely there jerk of his shoulders, but Gabriele notices. He always notices. 

" _Gattino_ ?" Gabriele asks, and Primo squeezes his eyes shut. He tries again. " _Primo_?"

It's so soft, and it's so full of concern, and Primo _breaks_.

He takes in a gasping, choked breath and collapses against Gabriele. It's so sudden that Gabriele is barely prepared to catch him, but he does, and his arms instantly secure themselves around Primo, holding him up. 

Primo is shaking like a leaf, and Gabriele doesn't understand.

How can he when he doesn't know the day Primo has had, when he doesn't know that Primo's father gave him whiskey to celebrate, and his uncle insisted his father fill his glass with more than just the one finger he'd originally poured, because, after all, he'd just _become a man_ , and he should learn how to hold his liquor too.

Primo's on the edge of drunk because of it, and to top it all off the adrenaline high he's been riding all evening is quickly crashing down, and he can't get the image of that poor man out of his head, can't stop feeling the blood, thick and hot, on his hands. 

He doesn't even realize he's making quiet, wounded noises until Gabriele's hand is stroking the back of his head, and he's murmuring gentle words and slowly lowering them to the blanket.

Primo lets himself be guided down, but tries to gather himself as he goes. He wants to cry, but he holds it in, swallows those feelings down. He became a man today, and men have no reason to show a weakness like that, his father has made that abundantly clear. 

There's a lantern next to Gabriele's picnic basket, and it shines bright enough that he can see his best friend's face. The second Gabriele clocks the blood on Primo, all hesitations to touch are thrown out the window, and he frantically starts to check for injuries. 

"Oh god, Primo, oh god, are you hurt? Where are you hurt?" 

Primo can't meet Gabriele's eyes. But Gabriele deserves an honest answer. He swallows, and so so quietly, tells him, "It's not mine." 

Gabriele's hands freeze, one on his cheek, the other against his neck. Primo's pulse thuds beneath his fingers. "What did you say?" 

"It's not mine," Primo says, a little bit louder.

There's a quiet between them, only broken by the sound of Gabriele's breathing. Primo's breath stays trapped in his lungs. "It's not… it's not yours…" he repeats.

"It's not mine! It's not my blood!" Primo shouts, practically wails. And the earlier guilt he'd felt on the way back to his father rushes back in.

"Mother of god, Primo, _what have you done_ ?" Gabriele asks in such quiet horror. He withdraws, and that _stings_.

It kills Primo, that Gabriele can't even touch him.

He clenches his jaw, can feel his hackles starting to rise. "I did what I _had to do_ ," he snaps. "To prove I'm a _man_." He practically spits the last word. It's never felt more dirty on his tongue before.

He's mad, now, angry because Gabriele can't understand the pressure he's under. He doesn't know what it's like to be the first born son of the head of the crime family. Gabriele has a father that _loves_ him, a mother that's still alive, sisters and brothers that haven't left him in the dust. He gets to coast through life, without the _expectations_ , and the _demands_ , and the _proving he's a man_.

It's moments like these, when the anger and the self-pity and the hurt and the jealousy are churning inside of him, that he thinks he could _hate_ Gabriele. 

It always makes him feel sick afterwards.

Primo shuffles back and swallows down the hurt when Gabriele doesn’t immediately follow him. His hands are fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. The pain helps ground him, even if just a little.

Gabriele is still wearing that stupid, scared expression, and Primo can’t look at it anymore, he _can’t_. Gabriele hasn’t said anything either, and it’s eating away at Primo. He’s always had something to say in every situation— it’s gotten them into trouble more times than Primo can count, but it’s also saved their skins, too, and his words have been a source of great comfort for Primo, no matter how much Primo hates to admit that to himself.

To hear _nothing_ from his best friend, in the moment in which he needs it most… 

Primo jerks himself to his feet, turning his back to Gabriele. The world around him sways a little, and he stumbles a few steps. It almost feels the same as the time he came down from his first high, not too long ago, only this time it hurts more, and there’s no pained laughter, and Gabriele isn’t talking him through it. 

His throat is tight, and it doesn’t feel like the air is fully reaching his lungs, but Primo opens his mouth anyways— he needs to fill up the silence with something, _anything_.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Primo tells Gabriele, shaking his head. “Your father loves you! He _loves_ you! And now… now my father will _respect_ me.” He spits it out, ignores the way the harsh truth of it stings. 

His father’s respect may very well be the most he’ll ever get from the man. And while respect is _everything_ in the family business, it’s never been what Primo craved the most. He craves _family_ , without the _business_ . Without the expectations. Without the conditions. _With the love_.

With his back turned, Primo misses the hurt that flashes across Gabriele’s face. He doesn’t see the tick in Gabriele’s jaw, either, as the initial shock from Primo’s words and their implications fades only to be replaced with something softer, something sympathetic.

And maybe Primo is right. Maybe Gabriele doesn’t _understand_ , not completely, but he _knows_. He’s the only person in all of Italy, in all of the world that knows, because he’s the only person Primo has ever allowed in. 

“Primo,” Gabriele tries, stepping closer to his friend. In the moonlight he can just make out the way Primo’s body is still trembling. “Primo.” 

When his fingers brush Primo’s shoulder, Primo starts so hard he nearly loses his footing. In part because he’s not expecting it, but more so because the touch _burns_ . He wants it, he wants Gabriele’s comfort _so badly_ , but he doesn’t deserve it. Not after what he’s done. Not now that he’s a _man_. He should be able to handle himself, he shouldn’t want to be comforted. (Shouldn’t want to be coddled like a sniveling child, as his father would say).

“ _Gattino_ , talk to me,” Gabriele pleads, closing his fingers more firmly around Primo’s shoulder. He tugs on Primo’s shoulder, trying to turn him so he can see his face, look him in the eye. 

Primo fights it, though. He’s conflicted and hurting and the guilt and his father’s words keep spinning around his head. _You’re a man now, son. You’re a man now. You’re a man now_. His breathing starts to come out quicker, and when Gabriele’s hands grip onto Primo’s shoulders he thrashes.

But Gabriele doesn’t let that deter him. He drags Primo in and folds his arms around him, holding him to his chest while Primo strains against him and struggles.

“Get off, get off, let go of me!” Primo cries, squirming in Gabriele’s arms to no avail. “I don’t need this! I don’t want this! Let me go!”

He turns to dirty tactics— as he does more and more these days. Kicking his legs out, burying his sharp elbows into Gabriele’s ribs, he even tries to bite him at one point. 

“I’m a man now! I became a man today! I don’t need this from you!” Primo shouts, but there isn’t much conviction in his voice, and it’s getting harder and harder to actively fight against both his brain and his _Briga_ . He’s just so _tired_. The fight is draining out of him, he can feel it dwindling down until all he has the energy left to do is meekly beat his fists against Gabriele’s chest, mumbling the sad mantra, “I’m a man now, I’m a man now, I’m a man now” into Gabriele’s shoulder.

It breaks Gabriele’s heart ever more, each time he repeats that.

“Primo,” Gabriele says, soft and sweet. He cradles the back of Primo’s head and shushes him gently. It’s not until he’s sure Primo’s calmed down that he takes his face between his hands and forces Primo to look him in the eyes. 

Primo’s eyes are red-rimmed and glossy, but he hasn’t let himself shed any tears. He tells himself he’s not going to start now.

But then Gabriele strokes his thumb across Primo’s jaw with the most earnest look in his eyes. “Primo, your father doesn’t define your worth,” Gabriele tells him. “You do. He may think you’re a man now, because you did what he told you to. But, _gatto_ , obeying your father’s orders, _killing someone_ … none of that is what makes you a man. You want to know what makes you a man?” He asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer because this is something Primo needs to hear. “The love you have for your sisters, for your Mama, that’s what makes you a man. The way you always take the time to talk to the ladies at the market and make them laugh and smile and brighten their day, that’s what makes you a man. When you stand up in front of the whole class and everyone, even Marco Bianchi, that little asshole, listens to what you have to say— that’s what makes you a man. The way you are a friend to me, that’s what makes you a man. When you do what needs to be done to survive, _that’s what makes you a man_.”

Primo swallows against the lump in his throat. It almost feels like a smack to the face, except this one is _nothing_ like the ones he’s received from his father and uncle alike. This one is gentle, it makes his heart ache and his chest feel tight— it makes him feel like he’s finally caught the thing he’s been chasing for so long. But it’s stunning, too, it’s unanticipated. _Overwhelming_. 

Just like a slap to the face, it draws a few tears from the corners of his eyes, and Primo’s hand hastily flies up to rid the evidence. He scrubs his left eye, and he remembers how his Mama used to kiss away his tears whenever he skinned his knee as a child. His hand falters beside his right eye, and the fuzzy memory of his mother fades into a new image, one of Gabriele doing the very same with these tears. It’s intrusive, and Primo is so startled by it’s unexpectedness that he rubs the tears away sharply and casts his eyes down.

“And, Primo?” Gabriele says, and he waits until Primo can bring himself to meet his eyes again. It takes a moment, but he gets there. “You are so much more of a man than your father will ever be, do you hear me?”

All Primo can do is nod silently, too choked up for words, not that he would have any semblance of a clue as to what he could say back to _that_.

And suddenly he feels so _tired_ . It’s an unfettered exhaustion, one that runs _bone-deep_. His eyes feel heavy, so do his limbs. His fingers, fisted in the front of Gabriele’s shirt, loosen, muscles aching for a rest. 

Gabriele can see it. He lowers them down to the picnic blanket once more, and Primo doesn’t object when Gabriele settles them together. 

Primo lets himself be held. Lets the safety he feels in Gabriele’s arms wash over him, lets it guide him into slumber.

Primo is finally not shaking anymore. His eyes are closed, his breathing is quiet, not labored anymore. He looks peaceful, almost. Despite everything that he’s been through today and every other day in all sixteen of his years now, he looks _peaceful_. 

Gabriele thinks he deserves to not only look peaceful, but to feel it too.

He presses his cheek to the top of Primo’s head and holds him tight.

“You are worth so much more than this, _gattino_ ,” he whispers into his hair. “So much more than what your father makes you do. Someday you’ll see yourself the way I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think with a kudos and a comment! Those are my lifesource!!!
> 
> Come say hi on [twitter](https://heisallandheismore.tumblr.com/</a>%20or%20<a%20href=)! :)


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